you talk with sprockets smooth from oil and grease
like bullets from an AK-47
but coming home I find you lost your ease
and walk in muddy boots invading heaven
you talk with blankets from a limping horse
like tempests quenched by forest canopies
I see your passion’s lost to sorcerer’s force
but in your eyes I see those purgatories
am I the magic wand that kills your voice?
am I your horseman of apocalypse?
like dying lilies, will you refine your choice?
is this just the darkness from a brief eclipse?
you raise the bridges cross your midnight moat
and like Orpheus I will enter Charon’s boat
Today Anna helps us to learn conceit. Those unexpected contrasts that helps create poetry by surprise working like extended metaphors. Hope I stretched myself enough.
November 28, 2013